National Road Magazine » Brandon Pershinghttp://nationalroadmagazine.com
The Greatest Place to Live; The Greatest Time to Live HereTue, 20 Mar 2018 00:37:50 +0000en-UShourly1http://wordpress.org/?v=4.3.15http://nationalroadmagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/05/cropped-New-Clean-Icon-Logo-B.svg_-32x32.png » Brandon Pershinghttp://nationalroadmagazine.com
3232Daytrip: Point Pleasant, West Virginiahttp://nationalroadmagazine.com/2018/03/19/daytrip-point-pleasant-west-virginia/
http://nationalroadmagazine.com/2018/03/19/daytrip-point-pleasant-west-virginia/#commentsMon, 19 Mar 2018 22:00:27 +0000http://nationalroadmagazine.com/?p=16675Around 10:30 in the morning, Point Pleasant was still dormant when our group of four parked our car next to the post office. Few people walked the streets. Even fewer cars passed down the main strip. Some small businesses were closed permanently, others still waiting to open for the day. It wasn’t until our group ...

]]>Around 10:30 in the morning, Point Pleasant was still dormant when our group of four parked our car next to the post office. Few people walked the streets. Even fewer cars passed down the main strip. Some small businesses were closed permanently, others still waiting to open for the day. It wasn’t until our group paced down a concrete walk parallel to the Ohio River that we realized the town was awake; very much alive in its own quiet sort of way.

The reason for our trip was fairly simple. We wanted to get our picture with the Mothman, an ominous creature of West Virginia folklore, whose winged legend is forever preserved by a 12-foot tall statue that we drove four hours to stand next to. His presence is everywhere, from advertisements for an art gallery, to paintings on the side of polished rocks inside an antique store. There’s even a museum dedicated to the creature just a few yards away from the statue. Yet, Point Pleasant turned out to be so much more than just the site of a mid 1960’s haunting.

On December 15th, 1967, the Silver Bridge, which connected Point Pleasant to Kanauga, Ohio, collapsed, dropping 31 vehicles into the water below. Today, a memorial stands with 46 names on 46 bricks, one for each person who died from the collapse. It’s a memorial that does more than just honor those who died, each brick is a physical reminder of the loss of life that occurred during that 1967 Christmas season.

Another memorial, a 150 foot public mural depicting the 1774 Battle of Point Pleasant, is painted directly on the town’s flood walls. The mural showcases the history of rising tensions between Point Pleasant’s Native American population and its Virginia settlers. These tensions ultimately resulted in a battle only to be resolved by a peace treaty, all represented on the mural. For our group, both memorials gave us a sense that Point Pleasant wasn’t just a town with a rich history, but also a place and people able to vividly articulate events that had occured throughout the area.

Around noon, the Mothman Museum opened up, and our group, along with a few other curious vacationers, paid the $3.00 admission to see the folklore come to life. Inside are memorabilia and replicas, all pertaining to the terror the legendary creature inflicted on the town. At one point, my brother pointed out the most jarring piece the museum had on display: a collection of newspaper clippings from the period. Like both memorials, these newspaper clippings held a certain emotional weight, grounding the history in ways a text book or documentary couldn’t.

Seeing multiple headlines of contact with UFOs, men in black, and paranormal moth creatures in the stark black and white newspaper text was a bit unsettling, to say the least. These articles weren’t from the sensational magazines you’d find at the grocery checkout line, they were taken from local West Virginia and Ohio newspapers. Perhaps these clippings had indeed profited from exploiting the wonder all of us have for superstition and the unknown, but if nothing else, for a moment, the headlines and museum gave our group a fleeting sense of wonder absent since our childhood.

Mothman Statue — Photo by Brandon Pershing

The Mothman’s supposed haunting grounds, “the TNT area,” were referenced throughout the museum almost as much as the creature himself. The area is described as a spot deep in the woods where the government had stored ammunition and explosives to be used during World War II. The area was later revealed to be deeply contaminated as a result of storing these items, and was ultimately turned into a wildlife management area. We asked the museum guide if it was possible to still see the site, and to our surprise, he gave us a map.

The woods that lead outside Point Pleasant towards the TNT area are almost as strange as the town’s folklore. Going deep into forested area while still being able to see smoke stacks from a nearby power plant is like watching a visual confrontation between nature and industry. The accessible part of the TNT area, which sits inside the McClintic Wildlife Management Area, is an experience with a strong emphasis on personal leadership. There weren’t any posted rules we could see, or any visible parking spots, only a phone number for the main office. We called the number and were told to park along one of the gravel roads and venture into the woods to find the remnants of the bunkers where the explosives were held. Using the map provided to us and locating the closest opening in the woods that resembled a trail, we set off to find the bunkers.

Like a scene out of Tolkien novel, the bunkers were shaped like igloos covered with overgrown foliage. Only metal doors were left visible from nature’s reclamation of the area. Most of the doors remained sealed, however, our group was able to find one bunker that was still accessible. Left empty despite some graffiti, the inside of the bunker had a dreamlike echo that my wife used as an opportunity to ricochet her voice off the concrete, singing simple melodies and Queen songs with a choir made up of her voice alone.

McClintic Wildlife Management Area — Photo by Brandon Pershing

The bunkers offered a surreal conclusion to our day trip.We hiked back through stagnant water and thorn bushes to our car, soon leaving McClintic behind us. We stopped for a late lunch at a nearby Wendy’s and ate our food mostly in silence. Traversing the TNT area had an obvious impact on our group. Our hike was an event like none we’d ever experienced.

We came to Point Pleasant in search of a photo opportunity with the Mothman statue, and left with our own collection of memories and an appreciation for a place with so much heart and soul. Point Pleasant, like Greencastle, is a small town off the beaten path who’s rich history and unique folklore showcase the powerful whisper of small town America.

Outside Bunker — Photo by Brandon Pershing

Point Pleasant Main Strip– Photo by Brandon Pershing

Riverside– Photo by Brandon Pershing

About Brandon Pershing

A Greencastle native, Brandon Pershing is completing his journalism degree at IUPUI. An avid film buff, Pershing is also a comic book enthusiast. He and his wife, Lindsey, live in Greencastle.

]]>http://nationalroadmagazine.com/2018/03/19/daytrip-point-pleasant-west-virginia/feed/0Stop Parenting Everyone Else’s Entertainmenthttp://nationalroadmagazine.com/2018/03/05/stop-parenting-everyone-elses-entertainment/
http://nationalroadmagazine.com/2018/03/05/stop-parenting-everyone-elses-entertainment/#commentsTue, 06 Mar 2018 03:07:58 +0000http://nationalroadmagazine.com/?p=16606Around Christmas of 1999, I was four years old and obsessed with Batman. I don’t remember ever living without loving superheroes. As far as I can tell there was no real defined reason, and no commercial on TV that piqued my interest. One day, I just woke up and wanted to be Batman. There was ...

]]>Around Christmas of 1999, I was four years old and obsessed with Batman. I don’t remember ever living without loving superheroes. As far as I can tell there was no real defined reason, and no commercial on TV that piqued my interest. One day, I just woke up and wanted to be Batman. There was something in Michael Keaton’s dark brooding portrayal of the character that inspired something in me, which also inspired the first disagreement between me and my mom.

Everyone has seen the film A Christmas Story. The entire movie hangs on our protagonist Ralphie and his attempts to convince his parents that he’s ready to handle the Red Ryder BB Gun. My Red Ryder was a VHS copy of Batman Returns. Every time we entered Walmart, I begged Mom to get me a copy for Christmas, and every time I asked, she reminded me I wasn’t allowed to watch it. When I would ask why, she’d always tell me the same thing, something to the extent of, “You aren’t old enough, it’s too scary, it’s too violent.”

I was allowed to watch every other Batman movie. The fact that I couldn’t watch this one pushed the film past the confines of just being another VHS on a Walmart shelf. It elevated it to be the holy grail at the heart of my own childhood. One Christmas morning, I woke up to see a world of gifts, but not a single one was Batman Returns. I wasn’t even looking for it. My mom had made it so apparent that I wouldn’t be seeing the movie that it felt more like a myth than anything tangible. There was, however, one thing in my corner that Mom hadn’t expected: Grandma.

Four hours later, to my surprise (and Mom’s), I opened up Batman Returns at my Grandma Marcia’s house during our Christmas party. The movie came with one rule, it had to stay at Grandma’s. The rest of that afternoon was spent in my uncle’s room, watching the movie that had once been so elusive to me. For the next two weeks, I had nightmares every single night.

Like many parents, my mom was very much aware that not all entertainment should be viewed by every child. She had taken the time, though, to understand the behavior and fears of each of her children. She also took the time to understand the content of our various interests. In my case, she knew my active imagination and need to replicate the actions of my favorite characters didn’t mesh well with films skewed to a slightly older audience. She didn’t let me see Batman Returns because she had seen the film upon its release in 1992 and had decided seven years later that an impressionable young Batman fan, prone to nightmares and roughhousing, wasn’t yet ready to see the film.

My mom wasn’t a one size fits all parent, however. My sister had access to more mature films much faster than my brother and I, simply because Mom knew she matured faster, and probably would fall asleep before the movie ever finished in the first place. While there were certain films none of us were ever able to watch, Mom was still fairly lenient (in moderation), and we had some freedom on what we chose to view, read and experience. She treated the content of our interests as earned privileges, and if we showed signs through our behavior that we couldn’t handle the material, the privilege was revoked, ready to be given back at a later day.

While hard R rated films and some video games weren’t accessible during our childhood, I never once remember Mom trying to push her own parenting decisions off on other parents. She never joined a parent group to oppose media she didn’t agree with, and she never wrote a letter or petition trying to get a film pulled out of a classroom or a theater. The decisions she made in her parenting were for us, and it wasn’t the business of any other person, and especially not our teachers, what we could and couldn’t watch.

Yet, by time I graduated from Greencastle High School in 2014, I had seen years of some of my peers’ parents trying to pull this stunt. Whether it was someone throwing a tantrum over what we had watched or read in class, or trying to convince my own mother about a piece of entertainment that they thought kids shouldn’t be seeing, it always felt that somewhere in the background there was someone complaining about everyone else’s entertainment.

Please consider supporting the Greencastle Arts Council by becoming a member. See the Greencastle Arts Council’s web page for details.

This wouldn’t be such an issue if there weren’t real world consequences. The New York Times published a piece in October 2017 detailing how parent complaints at a Mississippi middle school led to the dropping of To Kill a Mockingbird from the classroom reading schedule. In December, Houston Public Media reported on a Texas high school that removed a book from the school’s library following a parent complaint. The book,The Hate U Give, wasn’t even a part of a reading schedule, it was only available in the library. Relating this back to Batman, the only reason we have the two horrible Joel Schumacher Batman films of the late 1990s is because parent groups pressured Warner Brothers to drop director Tim Burton from the series.

I’m not advocating that parents let their children see every film or read every piece of material that comes out. My brother, sister and I definitely weren’t able to, and a part of me is very thankful to my mom for that. In early middle school, I snuck a viewing of David Fincher’s Fight Club, and was far too young to have properly engaged it as a viewer. I didn’t appreciate the film the first time around, spoiling the power of some fairly interesting twists and themes that were important to explore later in life. Even that initial nightmare inducing viewing of Batman Returns had confirmed that Mom, does in fact, know what’s best.

If you are a parent, you, out of everyone in the world, know what’s best for your child. My mom knew what worked and didn’t work for me, and she styled her parenting accordingly. What I am advocating for is allowing others the benefit of experiencing life through a book or film, and to allow fellow parents and teachers the chance to share specific content with their children or students. Literature and film sometimes features themes and sequences that are challenging for all of us to digest, but don’t go demanding theaters or classrooms pull something just because it contains something you disagree with. If your child can’t handle it, or it massively conflicts with who you are as a parent, focus on your family, not everyone else.

Ultimately, my mom wasn’t impressionable and always made decisions based off her own direction as a parent. She never operated off a complete “No, you can’t” basis, and there was always a “when you are older” aspect to her rejection of content. She always saw the worth of teachers and their reading programs scheduled in school, even if the material stemmed from some sort of controversy. What this allowed was a chance to pursue something at a later date, allowing us the ability to fully participate with our interests and schoolwork in a way that positively enriched us.

In 2002, three years after I first saw Batman Returns, there came a day where my siblings and I got the chance to see the film again. This time, with mom’s full blessing, I faced my fears of Danny Devito’s Penguin character without subsequent nightmares. Thanks to my mom’s wisdom of a little separation of time, the movie amazed me, and became one of my all time favorite films. My mom never listened to what others tried to convince her, and she always was grounded in her own style of parenting. She never made other children or parents her priority. Just us, and that’s something I’ll always be grateful for.

About Brandon Pershing

A Greencastle native, Brandon Pershing is completing his journalism degree at IUPUI. An avid film buff, Pershing is also a comic book enthusiast. He and his wife, Lindsey, live in Greencastle.

]]>http://nationalroadmagazine.com/2018/03/05/stop-parenting-everyone-elses-entertainment/feed/0Film Review: Black Pantherhttp://nationalroadmagazine.com/2018/02/18/film-review-black-panther/
http://nationalroadmagazine.com/2018/02/18/film-review-black-panther/#commentsSun, 18 Feb 2018 23:28:58 +0000http://nationalroadmagazine.com/?p=16571In a move many consider long overdue, Marvel finally places people of color in the forefront with its eighteenth film, Black Panther. Directed by Ryan Coogler, Black Panther is a fresh and welcome improvement in the Marvel franchise. With a visual design and imaginative heart ripped straight from the comic of the same name, Black ...

]]>In a move many consider long overdue, Marvel finally places people of color in the forefront with its eighteenth film, Black Panther. Directed by Ryan Coogler, Black Panther is a fresh and welcome improvement in the Marvel franchise. With a visual design and imaginative heart ripped straight from the comic of the same name, Black Panther will entertain casual moviegoers and comic book fans alike.

Set in the fictional African nation of Wakanda, Black Panther finds Prince T’Challa (Chadwick Boseman) dealing with the burdens of leadership after his father’s death in Captain America: Civil War. Aided by bodyguard Okoye (Danai Gurira) and Wakandan spy Nakia (Lupita Nyong’o), T’challa faces the pressures of leading a politically fractured Wakanda with the arrival of mercenary Erik Killmonger (Michael B. Jordan).

There’s a real sense of heart found in Black Panther, much of it coming from the film’s writing. Unlike other lead characters featured throughout the Marvel Cinematic Universe, T’challa is written as a more grounded hero with a more serious personality. The relationships he has with his family and friends are written realistically, and the film holds its dramatic tension by showcasing T’challa’s hardships of being Wakanda’s leader. This choice makes Black Panther stand out among the other Marvel films, and its success works as a testament to Coogler and Joe Robert Cole’s fantastic script. The movie continues Marvel’s trend of laughs mixed in with action, however, this film creates comedic moments in a much smarter and less on the nose way as its predecessors.

Chadwick Boseman plays T’challa with a reserved and wise nature, befitting of a king who oversees the world’s most technologically advanced nation. Boseman performs well in and out of costume, and his portrayal of the Wakandan leader is at its strongest in smaller scenes where he gets to charm or banter with the rest of the cast. No hero is made great without a strong villain, though. Marvel has had a trend of lackluster antagonists, however, along with Sebastian Stan’s Winter Soldier and Michael Keaton’s Vulture, Michael B. Jordan’s Erik Killmonger is a worthy fix for a film studio that struggles with creating villains that pack the same cinematic punch as its heroes. Killmonger is a deeply flawed yet resilient villain whose intellect and fighting prowess make for an interesting challenge for the Wakandan hero. More than just being powerful on screen though, the Killmonger character is just as powerful off screen because thematically the character touches on issues of race, identity, and the mistreatment of African Americans in the United States

Viewers will find that the women of Black Panther are the real champions of the film. Danai Gurira’s Okoye is just as talented of a warrior as T’challa, and his sister, Shuri (Letitia Wright), is just as smart. The interactions and underlying rivalry between these characters make for some of the funniest moments in the film. Lupita Nyong’o’s Naki goes beyond the typical love interest trope, as her own sense of ethics and morality illuminate some of the films themes of international policy and the preservation of human rights.

If the film ever falters, it’s because of some horrible use of CGI, especially in the film’s third act. Coogler and Costume designer Ruth E. Carter do an outstanding job creating a living breathing comic book aesthetic, but this is often interrupted with the film’s dodgy CGI. This film had a more grounded take on what it means to be a hero, and it’s a shame that CGI in excess repeats some mistakes of other big budget superhero films. Undoubtedly though, Black Panther will reinvigorate some lost energy into viewers who have become tired of many repeating elements in Marvel movies, even if this film does feature an overabundance of CGI.

Ultimately Black Panther succeeds in giving audiences a mainstream superhero film supported by writing, performances, and complex themes which change the greater superhero genre for the better. Coogler and Boseman have crafted a franchise that appears just as invincible as the character’s signature indestructible armor.

About Brandon Pershing

A Greencastle native, Brandon Pershing is completing his journalism degree at IUPUI. An avid film buff, Pershing is also a comic book enthusiast. He and his wife, Lindsey, live in Greencastle.

]]>http://nationalroadmagazine.com/2018/02/18/film-review-black-panther/feed/0Film Review: Hostileshttp://nationalroadmagazine.com/2018/02/08/hostiles/
http://nationalroadmagazine.com/2018/02/08/hostiles/#commentsThu, 08 Feb 2018 22:44:51 +0000http://nationalroadmagazine.com/?p=16545If you’ve ever wanted to see the film equivalent of buying a sports car just to drive it off a cliff, look no further than Hostiles. Written and directed by Scott Cooper, Hostiles is a narratively lacking yet visually breathtaking entry into the Western genre. It’s an experience that will leave audiences either impressed by ...

]]>If you’ve ever wanted to see the film equivalent of buying a sports car just to drive it off a cliff, look no further than Hostiles. Written and directed by Scott Cooper, Hostiles is a narratively lacking yet visually breathtaking entry into the Western genre. It’s an experience that will leave audiences either impressed by its Western vistas, or wishing they could have just watched 135 minutes of Cooper dropping real cars off of a ridge.

Set in 1892, Hostiles follows the journey of Captain Joseph J. Blocker (Christian Bale) after his unit is ordered to escort a former enemy, Chief Yellow Hawk (Wes Studi), and his Cheyenne family out of U.S. confinement and back to their homes in Montana. With the arrival of widow Rosalie Quaid (Rosamund Pike), Blocker’s team are at a moral crossroads as they attempt to separate a lifetime of violence from the people they must now protect.

Perhaps the greatest failure of Hostiles is that it never lives up to its gorgeous cinematography. Hostiles puts cinematographer Masanobu Takayanagi’s talents to full use. From the foreground to the background, Hostiles uses the look of the West to craft a setting far more interesting than the film itself. Cooper and Takayanagi’s choices for shot placement are incredible. To say Hostiles is a visual experience is an understatement. Unfortunately, this asset is wasted by a narrative that lacks the color of its visuals.

Hostiles is a film that wants to reject the flawed depiction of Native Americans in classic Western films, as well as showcase the effects of prolonged violence on the human spirit. In concept, these are relevant and dynamic themes that should be explored, but a jumbled and lackluster script from Cooper held these concepts back. Wes Studi’s performance as Chief Yellow Hawk is one of the highlights of the film, but the script continually appears to favor moments with Blocker’s unit sitting around the campfire. These quiet moments are what make Hostiles narratively frustrating.

While these scenes ground the film, they also restrict the viewers ability to accept the changes in relationship between the soldiers and Native Americans. While antagonizing forces certainly reshape the soldier-Native American dynamic, there is never a sequence of opposition that makes the changes in personality feel justified. The changes in personality are one sided. We are never given enough time with Studi’s character, or his family, to understand their personal view of the soldiers. For a film that wants to refute the Western genre’s stereotypes of Native Americans, the script appears more content showing Blockers viewpoint, thematically damaging the film.

The performances throughout Hostiles suffer the same lack of energy as the film’s narrative. Bale, who is known for his intensity, appears rather reserved. Wes Studi’s Chief Yellow Hawk is fantastic, but, as previously stated, isn’t in the film enough. The standout performance, however, is from Rosamund Pike. Pike portrays her character’s losses with raw emotion, and as her character becomes wethered by the hardships of the west, her performance exhibits the energy that is missing from the rest of the film.

While Hostiles offers a powerful visual experience in addition to featuring a stellar performance from Rosamund Pike, a jumbled narrative ultimately holds the film back from the success it could have had. If the cinematography is the sports car in the analogy, the jumbled narrative is without a doubt the careless driver taking it off the cliff.

About Brandon Pershing

A Greencastle native, Brandon Pershing is completing his journalism degree at IUPUI. An avid film buff, Pershing is also a comic book enthusiast. He and his wife, Lindsey, live in Greencastle.

]]>http://nationalroadmagazine.com/2018/02/08/hostiles/feed/0Leaving Greencastle and the Return Homehttp://nationalroadmagazine.com/2018/01/25/leaving-greencastle-and-the-return-home/
http://nationalroadmagazine.com/2018/01/25/leaving-greencastle-and-the-return-home/#commentsThu, 25 Jan 2018 23:19:52 +0000http://nationalroadmagazine.com/?p=16532“Every morning, my commute to IUPUI was spent looking out at a city that was so much bigger than myself…” In August of 2014, I got exactly what I wanted; I moved out of Greencastle. When Mom and Dad left my Indianapolis apartment, I didn’t have the nerve to start unpacking the sea of boxes. ...

]]>“Every morning, my commute to IUPUI was spent looking out at a city that was so much bigger than myself…”In August of 2014, I got exactly what I wanted; I moved out of Greencastle. When Mom and Dad left my Indianapolis apartment, I didn’t have the nerve to start unpacking the sea of boxes. Instead, I stared transfixed at the AC control. After what was probably 30 minutes, the first gesture of my newfound freedom wasn’t some college party or cloddish attempt to test new boundaries. My first grand act of defiance was moving the AC to 67, six degrees below Mom’s 73.

I woke up early the next morning, freezing. I opened the blinds to wait for the sunrise and embarrassingly realized that the sun doesn’t rise the same way for an apartment looking out towards the West. I spent all day unpacking, waiting to see the sun set. When the afternoon faded towards dusk and the sun touched the horizon, it became lost behind a billboard for a tire company. For someone who always preached about never returning to their hometown, I read that billboard over and over with a pervasive loneliness and a silent prayer asking to go home.

After half a semester at IUPUI, I was completely lost in my new life. While I was beginning to craft new and important friendships, everything was still so fresh that more often than not I’d still be eating Panda Express by myself, watching people get pulled over by the IPD out my apartment window. My choice for a journalism, film, and creative writing education track was going steady, but my peers were so incredibly talented that I didn’t feel like I had anything new or important to give.

As a writer, you need to have a certain level of confidence, maybe even arrogance to believe that what you create is actually worthy of people’s time. I had an over abundance of arrogance coming into Indianapolis, but by the end of 2014, all of my artistic abilities were placed on the highest shelf. My guitars started to collect dust, my notebook of ideas was shut, and I began to regret all the time I spent wishing to be somewhere other than Greencastle. Every morning, my commute to IUPUI was spent looking out at a city that was so much bigger than myself.

Towards the end of my first semester, a class of mine was canceled. I spent the entire day in my room watching old movies on a VHS player. Since landing in Indianapolis, there had been a feeling of unrest in my chest. I couldn’t define what it was, or why it was there, but I tried drowning it out daily through a busy routine. Weeks spent attempting to stagnate the feelings had only made them stronger. That day spent entirely without moving had finally allowed my doubts and bitter realizations to bubble to the surface, and I had to face them head on.

If there’s any area of life that’s hardest for me, it’s admitting when I’ve been wrong. Apologizing to people is agonizing, but to actually admit in my heart and to myself that I was at fault is almost impossible. Yet, as the daylight faded from my apartment and the sun crept back behind the billboard, I accepted that there were areas of my life that I had been in defect. I told anyone and everyone I could that I’d never return home post high school graduation, but I never really looked deeply into why I said this. I realized that some of my hometown resentment was really misplaced anger at myself.

I thought the verbal resentment was bold and intelligent. All of high school, I hid myself inside some pseudo intellectual shroud of trendy Facebook articles and Youtube videos, hoping that I could learn or do something that would make myself stand out amongst my peers. More often than not, I’d make a fool out of myself in front of everyone. Saying anything negative about our town and its people was an attempt to displace myself from my own failures of not reaching any of my goals. I wanted to believe there was something else besides my own arrogance and decision making that had been holding me back. In Indianapolis, I had to wear those failures daily without any excuses.

I took for granted the people of this town. It’s not until you live with the constant wails of ambulance and police sirens that you become cognisant of when you lived without them. In Greencastle, you can always walk down the streets safely. The people walking around you are always quick to offer a smile or a “hello.” Businesses, restaurants, and stores are staffed and owned by neighbors, friends, and family. Even if you don’t know someone, you get the feeling they are here for the same reason you are; to live a happy and normal life.

Before moving away, I was quick to point out people in this town who I disagreed with or who I felt detracted from what this town had to offer. There will always be those people waving confederate flags on top of trucks spewing exhaust all over the road, but having moved away from town and stepping out into the world beyond, those people are everywhere, even in a city like Indianapolis. At least in Greencastle, all of us have a safe place to agree or disagree with each other inside of a town that we all want the best for.

Having gone through a semester and an experience that had humbled me, I realized my view of Greencastle, my family, and myself had been flawed. I never slept that night, staying up until 6:45 the next morning to call Mom. Twenty-two years ago, my parents gave up opportunities and dreams to move back to Greencastle in order to raise me and, later on, my two siblings in a community that offered a safe and stable environment. I realized that I had never thanked them for how or where they raised the three of us, so I did, and a few heartfelt apologies were given as well.

Approaching four years later, I now have returned to Greencastle alongside my wife, a Greencastle native herself. Before marrying, we bought a house off Washington Street. The entire time we dated, we dreamed up exotic places we could go, but both our hearts were always set on making our way back home. Greencastle gives us a place to live alongside our families, meet with friends from both in and out of town, and participate in a community that gives back more than either of us ever realized. I’m thankful for this town, and I’m thankful I failed in my promise to never come back. Life is sometimes better when you’re wrong.

About Brandon Pershing

A Greencastle native, Brandon Pershing is completing his journalism degree at IUPUI. An avid film buff, Pershing is also a comic book enthusiast. He and his wife, Lindsey, live in Greencastle.

Please consider supporting the Greencastle Arts Council by becoming a member. See the Greencastle Arts Council’s web page for details.